


True Colors

by TheAfroCircus



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Abusive Relationships, Alternate Universe, Bisexuality, Body Dysphoria, Break Up, Closeted Character, Denial, Drug Abuse, Drug Addiction, F/F, F/M, Family Drama, Gay Sex, Gender Dysphoria, Heartbreak, Homophobia, I'm Bad At Tagging, Internalized Homophobia, Internalized Misogyny, LGBTQ Themes, Love at First Sight, M/M, Oral Sex, Original Character(s), Sexual Abuse, Shameless Smut, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide Attempt, Surgery, Trans Character, Trans Female Character, Trans Jim Moriarty, Trans Male Character, Trans Sherlock Holmes, Transphobia, Unrequited Love, trans author
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-21
Updated: 2019-07-21
Packaged: 2020-07-10 06:55:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,846
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19901623
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheAfroCircus/pseuds/TheAfroCircus
Summary: William (Sherlock) is a closeted and not yet transitioned trans woman who wants to transition but lacks the support of those she cares about. She has given up all hope of ever being herself. That is, until she meets Jim Moriarty. A successful man that seems to be able to make all her dreams come true. Trans!Sherlock. Trans!Jim. (Sheriarty AU)





	1. Chapter 1

  
  


_True Colors._

William felt sick. She always felt sick. It never ended. Every moment she caught so much as a glimpse of her own reflection staring back at her, it was sickening. She _died_ both inside and also a bit more on the outside. She hated the way she looked, the way she sounded, how she was forced to carry herself. 

She had always felt like a woman. She _was_ a bloody woman. Only her body did not reflect it. Nothing about her reflected it at the moment. 

How she dreamed of being able to be herself. To be free of her cage. She did not want to be a man. She was not a man. She wanted breasts and long hair. She already kept her hair as long as she dared. Any longer than this and people would talk. _Idiots_. 

She yearned to have curvature on her body. She wanted a clitoris and not this massive thing between her legs. She wanted a period. She wanted an endowed and striking man to be able to spread her and sink deep into her core. Not from behind and anally. _Vaginally_. 

She was unsure whether or not she would have been able to bring a child into the world if she had been born cisgender. She was not the most nurturing person in the world but the dream of the situation gave her so much euphoria. Also her genetic code was very impressive. She would have carried beautiful children to term. It was a shame really. 

William wanted to transition like the many others she had seen do so. Sadly she did not have the means nor support to do that. She was a consulting detective. The only one in the world. She observed many other transgender people in her line of work and also on the streets in her more darker years. 

Many ended up happy, fully transitioned and living fulfilling lives as their true selves. However many unfortunate people ended up dead by suicide and murder or overdosing in drug dens from lack of support. She knew. She was very lucky to survive all three situations for as many different times as they happened. Her brother was to thank as much as she hated to admit it.

Mycroft knew about her desire to be a woman. He had advised her against it time and time again. He instructed her to wait. He said that the time wasn't yet right. Yet she had been waiting all of her lifetime now. She voiced her wishes long ago at age two. Nothing had changed since then.

It would probably never happen now. She would have to live her life as a man and die as one it seemed. How she wished she could speed up the latter of the two.

“William, are you alright?” John interrupted her train of self destructive thought. 

William tore her eyes from what she had been staring at. A women's boutique with the most beautiful gowns. The way she stood in front of the window made it look as if the sequin dress was on her body in the reflective surface. It looked so _right._ Her pressed button down was suffocating and so very wrong...

“A woman?” asked John. 

William's eyes widened and she snapped her head quickly towards John. She searched his eyes for recognition, hoping that finally someone understood or knew. “Pardon?” 

“The suspect in these cases. Is it a woman? You're looking very hard at those gowns.” 

William breathed out a sigh, letting her eyes roam over the bright fabric once more before turning away. It would have been too easy and far too good to be true. John obviously suspected nothing about her true gender identity. He never would. “No.” She said. “It is a man. It is always a man.” She continued walking down the sidewalk. 

Watson followed his best friend close behind, raising an eyebrow even though William couldn't see it. “Well why can't it be a woman?” 

William clenched her jaw, staring straight ahead as she walked. “Sentiment.” She told him. 

John accepted that answer, knowing he was not going to get a more detailed one. He knew William like the back of his hand. At least, that was what he thought at this point in time.

As they walked through the streets of London, William wondered what it would be like not to live a lie. She would never have the fortune of knowing for sure. At least, that was what she thought at the time. 

She went back to the case at hand. Her only source of distraction and peace of mind. A coping mechanism if you will. It was all she had to express herself in this world. It seemed as if that was all she would ever have...

William did not notice the handsome Irishman watching her with interest from across the street. 

The stranger watched her until she disappeared into the busy London crowd with John desperately trying to keep up with her. Then the mystery man turned on his heel and entered the pharmacy to pick up his prescription of syringes. 

  
  
  



	2. Ms. Holmes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TRIGGER WARNING for transphobia and unaccepting family and attempted suicide and talk of self mutilation! and GENDER DYSPHORIA!! 
> 
> I gave mysELF dysphoria h e l p

_True Colors._

“William, we have discussed this.” Mycroft said sternly. “I have not forgotten about your request but now is not the time. Especially not with my upcoming recertification of my position in…”

William did not need to listen to the rest. She knew exactly what would happen now. Her brother would talk her down and talk over her. He would say that her ‘decision’ would hurt his government position, it would hurt mummy and father…

This is what he always said to her. He had been saying these things most of her life and William always listened. She went back to being closeted for another five years until she would again bring up her desire to transition. Mycroft told her once again to give it a few more years to decide. That she had time and now was not it. William stayed silent as usual as her brother talked down to her and dismissed her emotions. For someone who wanted her to stay a man, Mycroft sure treated her like an irrational woman. 

She would not ask again, she told herself. She had wanted to know when she would be able to truly be herself and Mycroft gave her an unspoken answer _; Never._ That was it, then.

William hoped her brother would forgive her for her own answer to this situation. 

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“William, you still here?” John called as he climbed the stairs to their flat. In his hand he held a jug of milk he had just bought from the store. He didn't know why his friend insisted that he immediately go get some milk in that exact moment. However it was not the weirdest thing he’d ever done for the eccentric man. “I've gotten the mi-” 

William was hanging by his neck from one of the banisters. 

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“You have upset mummy very much, brother mine…” Mycroft stood at the end of the cot. He leaned forward on his umbrella. He gripped the handle tightly with clammy hands. 

William said nothing at all. She stared out the window, not even looking at her brother. She had specifically asked for no visitors but she should have known Mycroft would undermine her like he always did. He never listened. _No one_ **ever** listened to her. 

“You are very lucky Doctor Watson got to you in time or else we would not be here having this discussion.”

William did not feel lucky in the slightest. She felt very, very unlucky. Miserable even, angry as well. She planned to die and her plan was foiled. 

Now she was here in the A&E of a high security institution in nothing but a flimsy gown, painfully aware of how her penis was sitting between her legs. She was untucked. They took her penis loose from its bindings. They _looked at_ and _touched_ it when she could hardly do it herself without wanting to vomit. She wished to cut it off. Perhaps, she should try. Maybe after she did it she could slit her own throat as well. This was simply hopeful thinking on her part. She did fail to commit suicide once but she would not fail again. She would jump in front of a train or off of a tall building, maybe shoot herself in the brain or heart. She had been taught all her life that both were cold and empty. It seemed oddly fitting. 

“Stop thinking _now_ .” Mycroft scolded. “You will _not_ attempt this idiocy again.” 

“You have controlled my entire life but you will _not_ control my death.” said William, voice low but firm. Her wishes would _NOT_ be ignored any longer. She was absolutely sick of living for other people and by their wishes and not her own. It had to _stop_. 

“We will not play this game, broth-” 

“WRONG!” William shouted. “On all accounts. This is _not_ a game, I am certainly _not_ playing and I am _not_ your _brother_. I never have been. You know this...but you don't care. And I do not either. I will not live like this any longer, Mycroft!” She shouted. 

The Holmes siblings turned their heads as there was a cough from the doorway. John Watson stood there, staring between the two but his gaze always landed back on William. 

“I hope I'm not...interrupting…” John said quietly. His face looked drained of color and sick with worry. 

William's heart sank as she saw the state of her best friend. She hadn't thought much of how John would react to her suicide. She figured he was better off without her and that he would just move on. She didn't want to see him hurt but she also didn't plan to be alive after the attempt, obviously. 

“You are, Doctor Watson. This is a private matter between my brother and I-” 

“Sister.” John said. 

“Excuse me?” Mycroft narrowed his eyes, hoping he did not hear what he just heard. 

“He-” John winced. “ _She_ , says she's your sister.”

“This is a family matter and it does not concern you. William does not need encouragement in these delusions. Please escort yourself out.” Mycroft turned his back to the doctor, expecting the man to leave. 

“No. John stays.” William said suddenly and very desperate. She's never had someone to support her gender identity. She never expected it to happen and she would cling to any validation she could get. Even if John looked confused and unsure, it was _something._

“He is not family, William, and he certainly does not know what is best for you.” Her brother told her. 

“If he accepts me then he is my _only_ family and he knows exactly what is best for me.” William seethed. “You are the reason I'm here. Now, leave. I do not wish to speak to you any longer.” 

“Brother-” Mycroft started.

“I am your sister! Why don't you listen to me? **I know what I am!** ” William cried out, her voice as broken as she felt inside, shattered.

“Apparently you do not.” said her brother, his words ice cutting through her. “You are a man, you will never be a woman, and with utmost certainty you will never be my sister.”

“GET OUT!” William screamed hysterically. She picked up the nearest vase on her bedside and threw it right at Mycroft. Tears were streaming down her face. 

The vase missed Mycroft's head by mere inches, shattering to pieces against the wall behind him. Just as William was about to hurl another object, this time a glass pitcher, John rushed over and grabbed her wrists. He would certainly talk to the nurses about why the hell they put these dangerous objects in the room. 

John hushed her softly, staring at her with sympathy. He took the pitcher away, setting it down and pulling her into his arms. As she sobbed into his shoulder, he looked at Mycroft in anger. “Leave. I won't have you upsetting hi- her like this.” 

“I am his family.” Mycroft glared sternly. “You have _no jurisdiction_ in this matter in any way-” 

“I'm a doctor and you are harassing a suicidal patient.” John took on his professional doctor's tone. “This is definitely my jurisdiction and I am telling you to leave. Now.” 

The man lifted his umbrella, staring at Doctor Watson with a sour expression. 

John turned away from him, turning the tables. Now, _he_ expected the man to leave. He waited, holding his broken friend in his arms. He heard footsteps disappear out the doorway and sighed in relief. He pulled back from...William (?)...and looked at...her. 

“Look at me, Wi- um. Listen.” John kicked himself for not seeing what was staring him right in the face. Everything made sense now and felt like an idiot. More importantly, he felt like a very shit friend. “You do know what you are, _who_ you are. No one can decide that for you and _I don't mind_ . My sister is a lesbian and while that is very different from what you are feeling, you should know that she went through the rejection and ignorance from our parents that, that gigantic cock is putting you through. I don't mind. I told you before that it was _all fine_. You're my best friend, I love you, and I'm standing right by your side. Well, I'm sitting at the moment but...this doesn't change what we have.” 

William stared at John with an unreadable expression. She never expected this. She was an idiot. Why did she think John would be like everyone else? She felt the tears coming again and yanked her flatmate down into another embrace. “ _Thank you, thank you…_ ” she said over and over. 

John said nothing, only holding his friend close. He admits that he was a bit out of his depth but he would learn. He would do anything he could to make...William (?) ...feel comfortable. He would not let _her_ feel abandoned and alone. _She, she, she._ His friend was a lass. It would take some getting used to and he would make mistakes but he would listen and be there every step of the way. He would also make sure that Mycroft stayed far out of the way of whatever decisions William chose to make. Speaking of which…

John coughed awkwardly. “Wil- um Ms. Holmes?” God, he needed a search engine desperately, to read articles, books, get updated on the NHS and their studies. Perhaps, he could find groups that they could both attend. First things first, however..

William looked up at John, blinking. She has never been called that. It was shocking but felt like _nirvana_. “Yes?” She felt her heart thumping, filling with a new found hope. It felt so wonderful to be addressed properly. 

“What would you like to be called now that- now?”

William blinked some more, her brow furrowing in thought. “Wilma.” She said. “Wilma Sheryl Holmes?” 

John nodded and squeezed her hand tight. “It's beautiful.” 

As Wilma looked at the genuine smile on her best friend's face, she laughed, suddenly very happy to be alive. Sadly, the feeling did not last for very long.


	3. Mr. Moriarty

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The subplot is revealed

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's! Jim!! :O

_ True Colors _

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"You think you can come into my  _ territory  _ and do whatever you like you, little bitch _? _ " asked Beryl Streetham, the gigantic-balled man currently tied on his knees with his hands behind his back and two men with guns at either side of him. "I promise you that I will…!" 

Jim decided to tune the man out, finding it ridiculous really. A man with such a big and freely hanging scrotum could think that his biggest asset wasn't his biggest weakness as well. The butchery business, well known in London for it's fine cuts of meat but unknown for it's cover as a black market for the selling of human body parts. An interesting and clever feat but how could you possibly mistake a human liver for a steers and attempt to sell it to the public? 

What a waste of a good crime cover. An almost perfect front, handled improperly and ruined by such a stupid mistake. A proper mess this was, and yet the butcher decided to mouth off. At least Jim's balls were neat and easy to keep clean, also more durable. Beryl Streetham would always be a dirty fleabag, and Jim a diamond in comparison. An observant fleabag, apparently, if he was able to clock Jim as a trans man. Also, an idiot for trying to mock the criminal for it surrounded by killers that worked for said criminal. 

At this point most would be begging at Jim's feet, promising him anything he wanted in return for their life. Unfortunate for them that they never had anything he wanted. Neither did this one, but Jim normally enjoyed the usual tears and theatrics. Oh well. Jim watched Beryl's disrespectful tyrade come to an immediate pause as his second in command delivered a punch that knocked out two, no three, teeth. 

"Anyone ever promise you they were going to cut out your vocal cords?" asked the muscular blonde. His thick fingers were itching to flip open the knife in his pocket and gut this disgusting rat at his feet. 

Jim was pleased at the dedication, but kept his expression neutral. "Don't make promises I won't let you keep, Sebby." 

"I'd keep it anyway." admitted the sniper.

"Chivalry is far beneath you, Moran." Jim rolled his eyes. "Just burn this place down." He turned up his nose in disgust, and then turned towards the door to take his leave. "It's more rotten than you after a good fucking." 

Sebastian wasn't sure if he was actually feigning the hurt he was showing at the passive statement. "Ouch." He said, for emphasis.

"You let this flower give you direction?" Streetham shook his head in dismay, speaking through bloodied teeth. "Why do you not work for a better man? A real man, eh? Let me go and we can do some gardening." He eyed Jim's body, looking at it in all the wrong ways. "We can show who the real m-"

Blood spattered before Streetham could say anything more, his brains hitting the far wall and his body falling forward in death. 

Colonel Moran has been in this line of work far too long for such an action to cause him to falter. Jim ends people's lives with the (literal) snap of his fingers everyday, but the Napoleon of crime never gave the steadying exhale he just did after this one. The dead pig got to Jim it seemed, at least a little. How Seb wished he could have made good on his promise. He began to pour gasoline over the corpse and equipment, lighting a match to finish the job. 

"Boss, are you-" he started but Jim had already evacuated from the building. 

Sebastian sighed as he threw the match and evacuated the building, leaving the butcher to burn along with all the other oversized and steroid induced pieces of meat. Jim left the scene of this night's crime abruptly and without his second in command. He left Sebastian to hitch a ride back with the other, less important, half of their security detail. He made a mental note to steer clear of Jim when they got back to the hideout. At least that had been the plan. 

The consulting criminal caught up to him on the way to the shower, branding the colonel in the form of a knife just under his larynx. 

"If you ever stand up for me  _ like that  _ **_again_ ** , I'll milk those  _ exquisite _ fleshy sacks of yours of all their testosterone and sustain myself off of it. Do you understand, Sebastian?" 

Sebastian clutched his neck to stop the blood flow and also the vomit because that was truly gross. "Y-yes, boss. Didn't mean any harm. Just…" 

Fuck, this was one of his favorite muscle shirts.  _ Damn Jim and his insecurities. Didn't he know he was the perfect man?  _

"Sorry." The sniper decided to say because they've been through this before, and yes, last time this happened he ended up bent over Jim's bed with Jim fucking any doubt of Jim's identity (that Sebastian didn't have) from Sebastian's mind. This time he gets a knife to his neck. Go figure.

Jim took it for the answer it was, giving a firm nod and making a show of bobbing the sort-of-adam's-apple he had from years of HRT. His voice really had dropped as low as it was ever going to but Jim didn't want anyone's pity for being born.

"Get clean." said the self made man, tucking the blade back into Sebastian's jeans pocket. "You're  _ ruining  _ my flat with smells and bodily fluids." 

Sebastian groaned.  _ Of course,  _ Jim would use his own army knife to near-slit his throat. How the hell did he even  _ get it _ when it was in Seb's pocket and the two hadn't been less than two feet apart  _ all afternoon _ ? He knew better than to ask about it but he also knew better than to say what he said next. His old therapist probably knew what she was talking about, him having a death wish or something.

"I'd rather you ruin me, kitten." Moran purred. "I know you can."

Wrong timing, wrong everything. A lesson was learned; Don't flirt with an open knife in your pocket. If you do, a moody consulting criminal will kick it right into your thigh. You'll start to bleed out. The criminal will get you medical attention to save your life as a form of an apology and later on he'll  _ let  _ you suck him off when the initial apology didn't take. 

Sebastian really hated gender dysphoria and gender related insecurities but he loved Jim. He specifically loved Jim when the man walked around the flat as naked as the day he was born, but actually not as that day. Rather, as the day Jim woke up from his final operation. That was long ago and Sebastian hadn't been there. No one had been. Only Jim and his new, massive-

"Feeling sad tonight, Sebastian. Come show daddy he's important." 

-his new, massive  _ ego.  _

The sniper didn't get fucked that night or any night after that, but he worshipped Jim's dick with his mouth like his life depended on it, until Jim came over and over. The absence of semen whenever Jim orgasmed was easy to ignore or rather it  _ better  _ be ignored. 

Sebastian would bob his head, suck, gag.  _ Everything  _ to convince Jim there was nothing amiss about him because there  _ wasn't  _ anything missing. Jim was perfect to everyone except a few morons who tried to make themselves feel important in their final seconds of life. No one looked twice at Jim, no one  _ knew anything _ about him except Sebastian who didn't care he was trans, and Jim, who cared too damn much. 

"How do I taste?" 

Sebastian pulled away to give his usual nonsense answer. "Rich."  _ Salty, dangerous, amazing, beautiful,  _ is what he didn't say. 

Jim didn't seem to dwell on the answer given, either because he didn't feel the need or the fact that his sniper just took him to the very back of his throat and was now assaulting his former phallus that was buried at the base of his current, bigger phallus. 

" **_Sebby_ ** _."  _ growled Jim with pleasure, clawing at the man's scalp. It was also a warning.  _ Back off. You're doing it w r o n g. _

Sebastian retracted his tongue, instead he continued bobbing but made sure his chin hit the base of Jim's dick each time. Different technique, same desired effect as the criminal thrust and grinded against his mouth. 

_ "Sebaaastiannnnn.."  _

Pleased, Sebastian brought him to another spectacular orgasm and was less pleased afterwards when he wasn't exactly kicked out of Jim's bedroom but it was obvious that the sniper wasn't welcome to stay through the night to cuddle. The consulting criminal was looking at him from the other side of the bed, haunted in the eyes. 

"I'm starting to question my sexuality." Jim told him and it was okay because this was something Jim had always struggled with even before they met, long before. 

It never mattered to Sebastian if Jim was gay or bisexual because it didn't change anything between them. Except, this time Jim coming out for the hundredth time did change something because… 

"Bisexual again?" Sebastian asked casually, lighting a cigarette he pulled from the nightstand he commandeered when they moved into this hideaway. 

"No. Straight." said Jim and it really baffled Sebastian, really, because.. "and I've told you to stop smoking in my bedroom when I'm trying to quit." 

Well, because Sebastian definitely wasn't a woman, he didn't remember Jim telling him he was trying to quit smoking, and if Jim even thought about running to that fake lesbian Irene Adler then the sniper was going to absolutely slit her throat with her own nail file.

" _ You _ like vaginas?" asked Sebastian in place of everything else rushing through his mind. 

"I think I met my next big project." Jim was adamant to confuse his sniper as much as possible it appeared. "Well, met is a strong word. I  _ saw  _ her running from fate in downtown London while I was getting my life supplies." 

_ Life supplies  _ always meant his HRT because Jim knew as well as Sebastian did that if Jim was ever without his hormone treatment, Jim would kill himself far before the changes it brought would start to fade away from him. 

"I thought I'd help steer her in the right direction, give her a taste of what she wants. If she really wants it, I can give it to her. I can give her everything." Jim talked more for his own benefit. It was more of a monologue. He was smiling devilishly and confident. 

Sebastian was stuck in the early stages of grief. His sort-of-boyfriend just coming out to him as a heterosexual of all things. "I don't have a vagina, Jim." 

Jim Moriarty sighed. "Correct, and very lucky for you that you are a cisgender male. All old news, dear. I'm talking about something new. Do your best to keep up." 

"Straight?" Sebastian repeated, incredulous. "Really _. You _ ?" 

"Oh, shut  _ up,  _ Sebastian. Really. You're pissing me off..." Jim muttered, snatching the cigarette. His bare feet patted to the balcony before his hand could even reach for a knife. 

Jim left Sebastian to deal with whatever the sniper was babbling about.  _ Vaginas, not having one, Jim liking them, how he (didn't) fit into that equation, blah blah blah.  _

Jim found that he was better at controlling his temper than he once was, better at handling the hormonal fluctuations between and around injections. He wondered how his new  _ muse  _ would handle it. He wondered how she'd look beside him, wrapped around his arm in an evening gown. He couldn't stop picturing her, in her truest form, how she thought she saw herself inside, but she hasn't, not yet. She had no idea just  _ how  _ she could look and  _ who _ she could become but Jim intended to show her soon. He'd show her everything, if she let him. If she was actually feeling what she was feeling, if she was sure of her real identity, then he'd help her get to it. 

Jim just started to do his research on her. He knew a name.  _ William Scott Holmes?  _ No, that definitely wouldn't do. That was no name for a fair princess, a lady who could become as lovely as she could. For now he deemed her  _ Curlylocks  _ because that is what caused her to stand out to him at first. Those dark luscious curls and the way those grey diamond eyes looked at those dresses, not just in glancing but  _ really looked _ at them as if she were starving,  _ dying  _ for them. He knew that she was. He wasn't blind, he could see it in her eyes. He had to save her before it was too late. He had to rescue her because no one else would, because no one rescued him. He owed her and he  **wanted** her. He  _ really  _ wanted her and Jim Moriarty always got what he wanted, always, and he wanted to be straight. He was lucky to have Sebastian by his side but this was much bigger than his relationship with his dearest sniper. 

Jim Moriarty had to finish the puzzle, his puzzle, fix his problem, his final problem. He had to finish putting himself together, building himself exactly how he pictured himself, how he should have been since birth. He was cheated out of his own destiny, it stolen from him because of a small but massive error in his genetic coding. An X that should have been a Y but wasn't by nature and certainly wasn't helped by idiotic human labeling. 

Nature was stupid, humans were even stupider, but he was a genius who could one up them both a thousand times over. He should have  _ never  _ been born and he should have never been born  _ wrong.  _

The world would burn and rot like he did in those conversion hell holes where they tortured him  _ every _ **_day_ ** _.  _ Touching him, undressing him, redressing him. Reminding him every second what a horrible  **mistake** he was, how different, how he was an anomaly. _ And they were right weren't they in the end?  _

Jim was a stain on the universe and if he was lucky, he would become a permanent one on the face of humanity itself. No one would ever forget  _ the man _ who brought the country to its knees.

Alternatively, Jim would never forget _the_ _woman_ who brought him to his. 

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	4. Ms. Adler

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tied up, Jim must cut ties with his greatest ally.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> im alive to give you more angst.

_ Alternatively, Jim would never forget the woman who brought him to his.  _

"Have you been absolutely  _ devilish _ , Jim?" The woman over him  _ attempted _ to pique his interests but she was boring him. Everything about her was boring except her tits and he felt they should be in his face and not almost halfway across the room where she stood.

If Jim's arms weren't tied to opposite sides of the headboard, he would have used one of his hands to further exaggerate his yawn. 

"YeeAAahh, that shit doesn't work on me." Moriarty enunciated his BIG yawn in her direction. "Asking me  _ questions _ ? I thought you were supposed to be giving me pleasure." 

The lady with the pretty face and nice tits, armed with a riding crop, sighed back at him. "Yes, that is the goal of this session, isn't it?" 

The whore appeared to be bored of him as well. It was insulting. There was no way she was getting all five stars on her site from him. Three, maybe. Only because the wooden clips covering various areas of his skin gave a good sting when she flogged at them.

"Yes, that's why I'm paying you, isn't it?" Jim mocked her, noting the anger flare in her eyes. He looked down at his flaccid cock laid flat between his legs. "My dick's not even hard."

"Isn't there a button you push for that?" Irene also looked over his penis.

"Watch it,  _ slut. _ " Moriarty growled at her. "You have no idea who you're-" 

Ms. Adler extended her arm, snapping the whip right across his lower abdomen, right above his old hysterectomy scars. She took comfort in the curse of pain and reluctant hiss of pleasure that followed. The clips in that area flew off, some landing with a clatter on the hotel room floor. Yes, now that's what she was used to. It cleared her head immensely. "You'll find that I know  _ exactly  _ who's tied by my ropes, Jim, dear. You don't have to be defensive, not with me. It was just a question."

"You ask  _ stupid _ questions."

"I was curious." Irene said genuinely and admitted, "I don't get many of your lot in my clientele." 

"With your line of questioning, naturally not." Jim informed her in a way that could have been polite, if he hadn't been blatantly staring at the cleavage of her webbed, garment, shirt  _ thing.  _ He was distracted by the accentuated curvature of the top of her tits for only a second and a half, which she gave him credit for. "And what do you mean  _ my lot? _ I'm a man like any of the others you hogtie and spit upon for a living." 

"Goodness, it was only one personal question. Look at you, carrying on." Irene looked at him, in surprise. Still, she picked up the crop and used it to urge him back to a supine position. 

"Like a woman like you? Is that what you think?" 

"I'm not paid to think. I'm paid to give you pleasure." Irene recited the line, and Jim took it for the crock that it was, after easing into the feel of the leather tracing slowly over his body. 

Jim snorted in amusement, biting back the sigh when the crop traced over his mons pubis, barely pronounced. "You use that line too? Really?" 

"What line?" The dominatrix tilted her head, watching closely his reaction to her bringing the riding crop down across his navel. It wasn't nearly as big of a reaction as when she brought it over his chest or when she previously dragged tassels over his cock. 

"' _ I'm not paid to think' _ ." said the criminal. "You obviously don't actually believe that." 

"Obviously." Irene replied. 

"Why bother? I told you that misogynistic shit doesn't work on me. Never has."

"What does work on you, Jim?" She asked, looking at him a bit too thoughtful for his liking. "What do you like?" 

"Aren't you supposed to know that?" Jim sat up because her focus completely shifted from his crotch now and that was dangerous in his eyes. She was supposed to be focused on getting him off but he hadn't gotten off because she  _ wasn't focused  _ on doing so. 

"Do you think I'm supposed to know that?" Irene circled the bed he was restrained to, dropping the crop casually yet not a thing about what she was doing felt casual to the man.

"Reverse questioning now, brilliant." Jim glared. "Can you  _ actually _ not answer a question before asking another one? They don't teach you that in the brothels, I guess. Oh well." 

Her arms folded over her chest, apparently cross with the consulting criminal and his deflection. "I should be asking you the same thing."

"Say that again!" The man shouted, almost screeching. The change in volume coming from seemingly nowhere.

Irene sighed, finally sitting cross-legged at the foot of the bed. She got comfortable, taking off her heels as she spoke. "How am I supposed to know something about you when you don't know it about yourself?" The woman asked, simply, ignoring his look of rage. "Why are you here..?"

"To  _ get off. _ " hissed the man. "Why are  _ you _ here?" 

"To  _ be paid _ . We can't all be high end killers, crushing people's skulls in meat grinders." 

"How do you- whatever. What a waste of pounds this was." 

"There are no refunds, no receipts, paper trails." Irene recited. "I was already credited anonymously to my account." 

"I know that you idiot. It's my anonymous account that transferred to your not-at-all anonymous PayPal." 

"You know a lot about everyone else but you don't seem to know yourself." 

_ "I will skiiin you alive and-"  _

"Turn me into shoes, yes. You've used that one before." Irene had to smile because he was in such a compromising position, arms and legs spread, tied to a victorian bed and still he was threatening her life. "But there's no need for that talk now. Even though it's sexy on you..."

"What are you doing?" Jim looked at her, really looked. He deduced a lot but nothing he saw meant anything. It was just typical, glorified, escort shit. 

"Looking." 

"For my dick? It's down there but you're not touching it because you're apparently a useless lesbian like Sebastian says." 

Irene furrowed her brow, ignoring his insult and continuing to file her nails. "How is Seb? He's sent me some nasty messages." 

"Ignore him. Can you do that while sitting on my lap?" 

"Are you ignoring each other?" 

"No. I'm ignoring him, he's ignoring my verbal restraining order and you're ignoring me. Both of you are pissing me off." 

Irene sighed, minding her nails. "Everything pisses you off. I still don't understand why you're here. You've got a man at home. What on earth do you want with me?" 

"I  _ am _ the man at home and I want you to give me an orgasm like I paid for. Think you can manage that sometime soon?"

"Why?"

"Because I'm the man with the dick and the funds. _ You've  _ got a woman at home. What do you want from men?" 

"Funding."

"Ah, of course." Moriarty's eyes rolled to the ceiling. He was finished here. She wasn't whipping him or letting him put his cock between her breasts so what was the point in staying here any longer? "Cut me loose. I'm leaving."

Irene was finished with this all, as well. She put down her file and looked at Jim, expectantly. "For the record if you care, I am actually  _ gay _ ." 

"Well _ I'm _ not." Jim retorted. 

" _ Yes you are _ . Look at us both." 

Jim looked at himself and then at her, expression unchanged. "A self made millionaire and the overpaid prostitute he hired. Disney would make a fortune on this tale." 

"Seb loves you." She said. "At least, I think so. Do you?"

He didn't have to explain himself but might've been about to. Luckily the consulting criminal didn't get past the vowel 'I'.  _ I don't love him? I don't care? I don't care if he loves me? I don't want to want him?  _

The door to the private suite was forced open, pieces of the lock scattering around. 

"Seb," Irene smiled warmly. "It's good to see you again. You're looking well. A bit shiny." 

"Fuck off." The sniper marched to the bed, throwing a wad of notes at her, which she tucked into her cleavage without question. 

"Thank you, dear."

Sebastian waved her off, more focused on kicking off his shoes and discarding his shirt onto the floor.

"Sebastian?? What the fuck is going on?" Jim pulled at his restraints, suddenly very uneasy and filled with anxiety he would never admit to having. "Did you plan this?" 

"I'll be off." Irene decided to ignore his question and also put on his coat. "You've got about fifteen moments before the hotel manager calls the police. Use the time wisely." 

"Get back here you overpriced prostitute and take off my coat!" Jim exclaimed after her. "Get the hell away from me, Moran!"

Sebastian, now in only his pants, knelt on the side of the mattress. His palm reached over to pull the remaining wooden clips from Jim's torso, infuriating Jim even more by twisting them as he did. 

"I told you to piss off." Jim glared, not pulling away from the sniper's actions. 

"I told you we needed to talk." The sniper's hands started to massage the indentations that remained. He didn't feel the need to point out how the criminal was clearly leaning into the sensation.

"I don't take orders from you, Moran, and a bit of a reminder: the last person who tried to tell me what to do got decapitated." 

"I know." his hands wrapped around Jim's waist, thumbs starting to move in circular motions as he rose a brow. "I did the decapitating." 

"How- nng." The smaller man had to bite his inner lip. "Who tipped you off to my location? So I can make a list of who in my staff I need to have burned alive in front of the others." 

"You'd have to burn yourself. I know everything about you. How your mind works. I knew where'd you go, the same place I told you not to. To a lesbian." 

"Untie me."

"Why'd you run away?"

" _ Un _ tie me, Sebastian. I run from nothing, no one."

"What the fuck are you scared of? Liking men? That doesn't make you straight, the same as how fucking  _ StrAddler _ doesn't make you a lesbian." 

"Oi! You fucking  _ sweaty _ imbecile, I said untie me." 

Sebastian shook his head. "I'm a big stupid oaf, I know. Completely  _ stupid  _ for loving someone like you."

Jim grit his teeth immensely hard, easing the blow that those words gave him for some reason that he didn't understand. "I said to back off."  _ Someone like you. Someonelikeyou. Someone.Like. _ **_You._ ** _ LIKE Y O U;  _ It repeated in his thoughts over and over, infuriating him. 

The sniper pulled the criminal by the hips, closer to his face and body. "I said, I love you." 

"Back. Off." was all Jim said, allowed himself to say, could say?

Sebastian tilted the man's chin, causing their eyes to meet and mirror each other, allowing himself to peer into the windows of Jim Moriarty's mind. He saw everything and more, even the things that Jim couldn't see himself. He kissed the man. "I know you love me."

"No. I certainly do not." 

The sniper went off of Jim's body language, not his words. "Jim." He kissed him again, hand slipping under to cup the shorter man's arse because his advances weren't being rejected. "Jim…" he warned. "I don't care if you're trans and bisexual so why do you?" 

"There's nothing to  _ care _ about because I don't identify with either of those terms. I'm a male, heterosexual. Sorry to burst your twisted fantasies." Jim said the last part as if it tasted rancid. 

"Don't start that shit. You are not a fantasy for me. You're more than-"

"I'm straight, sorry." 

"You are  _ not  _ straight!" Seb's hands tightened around Jim's hips, nails starting to dig into skin. His anger faded at the brief fear that flashed through Jim's eyes. He was angry, furious but his intention wasn't to intimidate or make Jim feel as if he was being threatened. That was the last thing he wanted to do.

Jim thrashed his hips against the iron grip Sebastian had on them, as well as ignore the start of flashbacks he was having to the failed conversion 'therapy' he'd endured in his past life. He ignored it all. Any fear or panic that was rushing to the forefront of his mind. He wasn't afraid of anything anyone could possibly do to him, not anymore. He only felt pain when he allowed himself to, when he  _ wanted  _ to. 

"That's.. ssst.. for me to decide. Hands off!" Jim growled. 

"You of all people should know that you can't just decide things like this." Moran frowned as he undid Jim's bonds, using his knife to snap the ropes. "Just like you can't decide to fall in love with some random man you saw on the street -"

It happened the moment the knife cut through the last rope that restrained Jim's final limb. It took Sebastian by surprise, suddenly being yanked chest to chest with the consulting criminal, their lips brushing. 

"Sebby, Sebby… You know me  _ much  _ better than that." One of Jim's hands lifted to the sniper's cheek while the other slipped underneath a pillow to his right. 

"Jim…" Sebastian saw the hints, saw the threat of imminent danger, but it was so good to be this close to his boss like this again. He thought he wouldn't care what happened next, if Jim decided to kiss him and then slit his throat. So he didn't take his eyes from Jim's, not even when the man found the object hidden under the pillow. He didn't look at what it was, waiting with bated breath. 

"This is self defense in advance." said the criminal, arm lashing out to drive the sharp piece of metal into Sebastian's neck. He watched the expressions of shock, realization and finally grief as they appeared on the sniper's face. 

"I'd never hurt you." The words fell from Sebastian's gasping lips as his vision started to blur, which confused him. "Jim?" He hasn't been stabbed with a knife, he realizes. He's been drugged by a needle. 

"Never said you would." Jim rolled off the bed as Moran began to stumble backwards. "I didn't say it was a defense from  _ you.  _ I can't let myself get distracted from my original goal. My original plan. You weren't part of it, darling, and so you can't be nowp." 

"Jim." The sniper pleaded, fighting the drug and refusing to fall. 

"You always were stubborn. Don't hit your head on the way down. That'll make a nasty bump." He said as he put on Sebastian's shirt, it being long enough to cover his penis and give some sense of decency. It would do for now. 

The sniper continued to stumble and hold himself up on furniture. He tried to get to Jim, pushing himself in the criminal's direction. "What did you-" He was sent back into a vanity as the end of a riding crop came in contact with his face. The blow stunned him but he didn't go down. He wouldn't give Jim up without a fight. 

Jim, armed with the crop, watched Seb fight to get to him. It was admirable, adorable but his past with the sniper was already put far behind him. "You have to let me go, Sebastian." 

"No." Seb groaned, clutching the edge of the vanity. 

"Let me go, Seb." Jim repeated. "It's what's best for both of us." 

Sebastian grit his teeth, mustering the strength needed to stay awake, to stop Jim from making a big mistake. "No!" He ran forward to catch the criminal in a full body tackle, at least that was his plan. He didn't expect Jim to start beating him with crop over and over with all of the shorter man's strength. 

"I... SAID... LET... ME... GO... SEBASTIAN." The consultant exclaimed between blows to Moran's head, face, chest and torso. 

The sniper finally fell, succumbing to the effects of the solution and being beaten. His balance was far gone by now. He couldn't even roll over. He had about as much mobility as an infant, only able to turn his head to watch Jim begin to climb up on a window ledge. He wanted to curse, to shout, to beg Jim not to leave him behind but the numbing agent already made its way to the muscles of his mouth. He couldn't even speak. 

"You were good to me, tiger. A very attentive lover, I was always flattered." he said from his seat on the open window, waiting for the signal for his departure. "But you forget that I decide what happens in my story and in my story there aren't two kings. In my story I'm not  _ gay _ . I'm king, I'm straight, I have a queen by my side… And I can't  _ wait _ to see my queen in her crown." 

With a look of newfound fondness and determination, Jim tilted himself backwards out of the window. He left his sniper to choke on his own vomit.


End file.
